


A Neutron Star Collision

by parisienneheart



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: (not too rough... but I felt it was enough to tag it), Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Canon Compliant, Coincidences, Fate, Los Angeles, M/M, Near Future, Pining, Reluctant Meetings, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Zayn/Gigi friendship, past Zayn Malik/Gigi Hadid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-14 02:11:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7994842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parisienneheart/pseuds/parisienneheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“One of two things happens when neutron stars collide: they merge together to form a new, larger neutron star, or they collapse into a black hole.”</i>
</p>
<p>Both huge Hollywood stars in their own right after Zayn’s solo success and Harry has made a name for himself in the acting world, coincidence or fate repeatedly brings them together in L.A. Despite their unresolved feelings and stubborn avoidance, sooner or later Harry and Zayn will have to face each other. What then will become of this neutron star collision?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Neutron Star Collision

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Callymoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callymoon/gifts).



> This is a near-future fic, and what I headcanon Zayn and Harry's lives may be like in 1-2 years. And although there is angst and this fic thrives off of it, there are light moments here and there with Zayn's relationships and other positive things going on in the fic. Also, I never write unhappy endings :)
> 
> While I didn't have Zayn and Harry running into each other exclusively at events like the recipient prompted, I did have them additionally meet in more "natural" situations around L.A., which I saw as an opportunity to showcase different, though converging, sides of their L.A. lifestyles. I really enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoy reading!
> 
> p.s. this is self-edited and not britpicked except for dialogue because it takes place in L.A. and I'm American :)

 

* * *

  _One of two things happens when neutron stars collide:_

_they merge together to form a new, larger neutron star, or they collapse into a black hole._

* * *

 

 

 

Winter 

 

Zayn hated mornings.

He especially hated quiet mornings when he woke up alone in bed.

Too much time to think and dream and catch himself remembering things he should have discarded from his memory years ago. It was the absence of something that caused him to remember. But he couldn’t quite put the feeling into words, or quite explain how it was an “absence” at all.

How do you explain the discomfort of waking up in bed… because you’re not waking up with a certain person beside you? How do you explain that you had never woken up feeling so secure, comfortable, whole, and happy before or since the last time you woke up in bed with this person; sleepy smiles, half open eyes, soft hair, soft voice, a warmth in your chest when you woke up with this person’s head resting on your shoulder, a gentle kiss--

Zayn never let himself remember beyond that.

But he knew that he never felt that same way with anyone else, ever. And it was so salient to him that he could never have it back. That every time it didn’t match up with another person, he’d force himself to remember the feeling, if for the sake of keeping himself happy for that moment.

He felt like shit for it. He hated himself for it, but it was a terrible habit and feeling he couldn’t shake, no matter how hard he tried.

Every time he closed his eyes and relived those moments, it was always followed by feelings of regret, bitterness, and a void in his heart that ate away at him until he forced himself to get up and walk around the house or put on music to make him forget it. 

Zayn had been doing a lot of intentional forgetting lately.

He was angry at himself for how attached he still was… when the person he constantly tried to not think about could not be more detached.

Zayn envied him for that. He wished he could achieve that level of apathy.

Zayn heaved a deep sigh, and grabbed his phone off the table, slipping the earbuds into his ears and pressing play to a tune that drowned out all of his masochistic thoughts.

 

+

 

But far be it for Zayn’s life to be one filled with regret or bitterness--apart from those memory-plagued mornings, he was enjoying his life and excited about his present and future. Despite a few hiccups at the beginning, he was able to push himself further and prove himself as a solo artist. He became more savvy with the business and marketing aspect of his career, he continued to take creative risks and venture into different and interesting songwriting and producing decisions. He also got much better at being in public and being on stage as a solo artist. The anxiety wasn’t gone, but he was managing it and a he had a whole team of genuine friends and colleagues to support him.

In the meantime, he developed an initiative to raise awareness and funds to aid those suffering from anxiety, especially younger people. He never saw himself as an ambassador of sorts and wasn’t too keen on expressing his personal opinions on controversial topics in public, but after coming out with his story and receiving so much support from his family, friends, fans, colleagues, and even people he’d never met but admired from afar… he figured he could at least use his voice for this, to help other people like him not be afraid of disclosing, and eventually treating, their own anxiety.

Yes, things were stable and Zayn felt in control. He wasn’t on a tight schedule and just another silent cog in the wheel anymore--and even though he had his own schedules to follow, if he wanted to stop or change it, he could. For the good and the bad consequences of his actions and his art, Zayn was the one held responsible for it, and he preferred it that way. He felt he was truly growing into the adult and artist he wanted to be, back when he was just a shy teenager who thought this was all just a faraway dream.

But if only he could make the lingering embers of all his burned bridges disappear…

At eleven at night, Zayn was dropped off in Beverly Hills for a final fitting by Versace, who was giving him a custom outfit and wardrobe for his soon-coming appearance at the Oscars. Yes, the Academy Awards. He didn’t consciously think too much about it, because if he did, then it would freak him out. He lent his voice to the soundtrack of a critically acclaimed film, The Promised Land, a story that served as a social/political criticism and displayed the perseverance of the Muslim-American experience. The song, titled “Hope” became so successful that it was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Original Song. He tried not to think too much about that, either. That he could win an award for being a part of something that was so much bigger than him.

His star seemed to be rising higher and higher, and this was going to be one of the peaks of his career, he already knew that. He tried not to let the pressure get to him, and practiced breathing exercises every time it became too real.

“Hello darling,” he was greeted with a double-cheek kiss from Rebecca, one of Donatella’s representatives in Beverly Hills. “Come and see what we have for you!”

Though it was traditionally a black-tie event and the attention from a fashion lens usually focused on the ladies of the red carpet, Zayn wanted to do something unique with his outfit.

“I love it,” Zayn said as soon as he saw his suit hung up on display.

“Also… have you chosen a date yet, so we could coordinate your outfits?” Rebecca asked.

“I think it’s just going to be me and Mum, but… I’ll ask her what she wants to wear first.”

Rebecca smiled. “You sure she wouldn’t love what we picked out for her?” 

“Mum’s kind of… simple. I’m sure she won’t fancy being in something too flashy.”

“You just want to outshine her, don’t you?” Rebecca joked.

Zayn shortly laughed, then got on with trying on the suit. He didn’t remember how exactly he got the idea, but felt inspired upon watching an old film that he’d quite like to wear a cape, a matador’s cape.

What Donatella created was subtle, though the glistening embroidery and the shining gold satin underneath the black velvet folds of fabric cascaded from his right sleeve. It wrapped from behind his neck and folded into the silk black scarf. Zayn extended his arm and watched the fabric ripple and glisten beneath the lights of the fitting suite. The rest of the suit was matched with a gold and black waistcoat and glistening gold cuffs on the sleeves.

“I’ve gotta say… no one is going to see that cape coming. You could make a profession out of those innovative ideas, Zayn.”

Zayn breathed out a laugh. “Think I’m good now, but thanks.”

“Of course… After the Oscars, you’re going to be wanted all over, kid.” 

_Except by those whom I’d care to be wanted by the most,_ Zayn sighed internally.

 

+

 

At night, Rodeo Drive looked a bit magical, the way all this opulence stood still, barren and elegantly lighted. Zayn was fascinated enough to take a stroll down the street after his fitting, still a bit under the radar at this hour, if only for a few minutes. He liked walking past each store, noting the aesthetic of each one, how shiny and clean and over the top each one was, whichever theme of the season it was expressing. It was kind of like being in some fantasy land--a fantasy fashion land--each one just glowing, powered by the billions of units perpetually accumulated through the public’s obsession with the commodification and inflation of the value of a piece of cloth’s name.

Zayn was just about to walk across the street to where one side of Yves Saint-Laurent was still lit up on the inside--when he saw a ghost.

His heart pounded against his chest and he froze, wondering if he should turn back.

Of all the times to run into _him,_ of all the places in the city. He’d know those lanky legs, that unstable gait, and the silhouette of that profile anywhere. Even through the window of a poorly lit shop in Beverly Hills.

It was Harry.

Just as Zayn decided he should keep moving forward, he noticed from his peripheral vision that Harry turned in his direction, and Harry’s view must have been unobscured thanks to the glass wall of the boutique.

“Shit,” Zayn hissed under his breath as he sped his legs down the pavement.

Even if Harry did see him, even if he did recognize Zayn, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He can’t imagine Harry would ever want to talk to him again, let alone see him. And Zayn didn’t want to find his predictions come true.

So he walked the fastest he felt he had ever walked and summoned his driver before hopping in and sinking low into his seat. His chest felt like it was twisting and hot on the inside; mixed between the grief of that broken relationship and a strange sort of relief that seeing Harry meant he actually still did exist. That they weren’t just a dream or something Zayn had made up. Harry was real and he was here, and… Zayn did not have the courage to face him again.

And he would most likely have to face him again in a couple weeks, because Harry was going to the Academy Awards as well--as an acting nominee. And it would be the first time in years that Zayn and Harry would be unable to escape being in the same room, unable to ignore each other. Zayn feared he would not survive it.

+

 

Red carpet events were always a wild ride, though this time, Zayn felt like the pressure was eased a bit off of him, since there were so many high-key famous people here, that he felt a bit insignificant. But he had his mum on his arm in an elegant, simple ivory piece by Versace, as he requested, and she stayed at his side during all the interviews.

Zayn and Gigi had split up a few months prior, and she had usually been his go-to date for important red carpet events. But this time, even though they were on good terms, he couldn’t exactly bring her and he didn’t want to bring friends to such an important gig. The truth was that he would have gone solo if he didn’t feel he’d need the emotional support--especially with Harry being there as well. 

Funny to think there used to be a time when he and Harry and the other three were each other’s emotional support on the red carpet. But those days were long gone. No more giggling and fondling each other’s faces during red carpet interviews, and no more evading questions with an assist by a bandmate.

That’s what it was to be solo, and Zayn wouldn’t have given up this new path he gave himself… but it was something he constantly missed at red carpet events.

He got a lot of attention for his unorthodox suit and luckily there was so much going on, that even for the briefest moment that he thought he might have spotted the back of Harry’s head, he was whisked away to the next interview until he and his mum made their way into the Kodak theater.

“I feel like I’m in another world,” Zayn’s mum told him as they sat down in their seats, next to the rest of the cast and crew from The Promised Land. They were served champagne and hors-d’oeuvres before the show started and all was going well and fine until Zayn saw _him_.

Harry came in tow with the rest of his large ensemble crew for the film he got so famous and revered for. Zayn noted him, how different he looked after a bit of aging, physical training, and a haircut. He had lost the boyish softness in his face, though his lips, twinkling eyes, and cheekbones held that youthful, mischievous look to him.

“It’s Harry,” Trisha commented at the moment. She gave Zayn an apprehensive stare. 

“It’s okay, mum,” Zayn told her with a smile.

Nothing more was said. And what needed to be said? They wouldn’t have to actually interact the entire night and they could escape this whole event without getting closer than they were now.

It was kind of sad to think about, when just a few years ago, at any awards show they would have practically been on each other’s laps drunk off champagne and giggling like the boys they used to be. Those days were over, though, and the stakes were very high now for the both of them.

Zayn tried to focus on his table and make sure his mum had a good time. The opening sequence was charming enough to rouse smiles and laughs from the audience, and as expected, the host made a joke about “two directions” being there tonight. Zayn saw the cameras zoom on him, and he was sure they were on Harry as well. He kept his face composed and tried not to let his anxiety break through the surface, and before he knew it, it was over.

Then nearly halfway through the show, he was summoned by a volunteer to go backstage and prepare for his solo performance, as all nominees of the Best Original Song category usually had a performance set up throughout the show. Zayn was nervous, yet he was so happy for the film and the crew, who had already won two awards that night. All he would have to do was sing--which was what he did best.

The stage was dark, quiet, and lit by a single spotlight with a backdrop representing the film, showing scenes upon the screen.

Zayn stood at the center of the stage in front of a microphone, closed his eyes and began to sing. He felt the reverence of the audience, of the venue, and he poured his all into singing those lyrics of hope, of pain, of dreams.

And when he opened his eyes to scan the crowd, almost immediately he was met with a pair of eyes he’d recognize anywhere, in any lighting. Harry was looking back at him, face solemn with a heavy gaze. It sent shivers down Zayn’s spine, to be acknowledged like that by Harry, of all people, there in that room.

Zayn closed his eyes as he continued to sing. He didn’t want to look at him like this. It was too weird, he didn’t know what to make of it or what that meant to his heart.

But he got back into the song and smiled once he was finished, met with a rousing applause and a standing ovation.

Twenty minutes later, he was ushered on stage to accept the award for Best Original Song with the other writers and producers of that track. Zayn couldn’t believe he was standing on stage at the Oscars as part of a winning team. He was buzzing in his skin, and the whole thing felt surreal. He was led the whole time with shoulder rubs and gentle elbowing in his ribs. He scanned the crowd and saw his mum tearing up, and he looked for someone else, but he never found the face he wanted to see. Just an empty chair.

After Zayn went backstage and exchanged congratulations with his mates and the presenters, he wandered over to a refreshment table and took a bottle of water. He needed to come down from this strange dream. 

Just as he turned around, mid-drink, he bumped into someone and spilled over his lip and onto the ground.

“I’m--” he was about to say sorry until he saw that it was Harry who he had bumped into. “Oh,” he uttered out, and then he left his jaw dropped in shock.

“Sorry,” was all Harry said as he stared back at Zayn, without emotion in his voice or eyes. Almost like he didn’t even realize it was Zayn he had bumped into.

Zayn couldn’t speak. All he could do was stare back, studying Harry. They were in the dark and all alone, and Zayn felt like this was the only way he could believe that Harry really was here. So many of their moments had been spent in the dark, alone, with hushed whispers and giggles and comfortable silences. But this felt… strangled, like Zayn couldn’t breathe.

Before he had the chance to say anything, Harry turned around and left, leaving Zayn to watch after him as he walked away. Just like a ghost.

Zayn looked down at his feet. The first time he’d been face to face with Harry since he left the band. And... he couldn’t say anything. Harry didn’t say anything, either. And Zayn might as well have been invisible.

All of those dreamy, hazy feelings of being a winner--they were all snuffed out, and left in their wake was an even bigger hole in Zayn’s heart.

But the show still went on and Zayn couldn’t hide backstage forever. Once he was sure he was composed and ready to put back on a smile, he returned to his seat at the table next to his mum. She hugged him close and squeezed him, telling him how happy and proud she was. 

Zayn focused on spending the rest of his night drinking and forgetting about what happened behind the stage. But then, the nominees for Best Supporting Actor were being called out and before he knew it, Harry’s face was up on the big screen. Zayn had no choice but to turn his head and look over to the rosy-cheeked lad, his short waves--though much less glorious than they used to be when they were longer--framing his face and likening him to a soft figure of a LeBrun painting, his eyes twinkling with excitement and anticipation.

Zayn gently smiled. He knew that look. Knew it since their days in the X-Factor. Harry wanted to win. He wanted it so badly, he could barely be humble about it. And Zayn found himself hoping that Harry’s name would be called out. He hadn’t even watched Harry’s film, but he was sure from the clips he’d seen at this awards show alone, that Harry really put effort into it and probably deserved to win.

But Harry’s name was not called, and when his eyes lowered for the briefest flicker before turning around and beaming at the winner--Zayn wished he could be there to place a hand on his neck and tell him it was all right and that he was still brilliant.

Zayn caught eyes with his mum, who was applauding along with the rest of the audience. Then she lent her eyes toward Harry, whom she had been fond of once upon a time, too.

 

+

 

Zayn was careful not to go to the same Oscars after party as Harry’s team. Though Zayn kept turning his head, half-hoping and half-dreading he would see Harry in the same room. He didn’t know what he expected after that pseudo-interaction backstage, more rejection?

But it never happened. He didn’t see Harry’s face again that night and he went home before midnight with his mum at his side.

When they got back to Zayn’s house in Bel Air and were out of their fancy clothes and in their pyjamas, they ate a victory cake that Trisha had secretly bought for Zayn prior to the awards show--whether Zayn won or not.

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” Trisha told Zayn as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

“Thanks, Mum.” Zayn smiled as he hugged her back. “I’m glad you came.”

“Are you kidding? Thank you for taking yer old mum, I was honoured!” she told him with a shake of her head. 

Zayn ducked his head and smiled.

“You all right, sunshine?” Trisha asked as she carefully looked at him.

Zayn couldn’t repress the sigh that came out of his mouth as he looked to the side. “Yeah, just… tired, I guess.”

Trisha gave him a lingering, though warm, stare. Zayn knew he was terrible at hiding his emotions, especially from his mum, but she didn’t pry. She just wrapped her arms around him, linking her hands together so he was locked in her hold.

“Well, guess we’ll have to make sure you get a good night of sleep, yeah?" 

Zayn smiled back at her as he brought a hand to cover hers. “Yeah.”

“Suppose we could have a nice breakfast tomorrow morning and then… maybe go to the beach? Oh, and we’ll have to ring your father, he’ll be so proud!" 

“Sure,” Zayn told her with a grin. “And we’ll have to go shopping for the girls to make up for not letting them skip school to come visit.”

 Trisha smiled. “All right. Good night, Zayn. I love you,” she said as she released him, then pressed another kiss to his cheek.

“Love you too, Mum,” Zayn replied as he embraced her one more time before heading to bed. 

But he was thinking too much to go to sleep. As he lied in bed, he scrolled down the list of contacts in his phone, and hovered over Harry’s name. He never took any of the boys out of his contacts and many nights he hovered over their names, wondering if he should or shouldn’t reach out, his fear always winning out in the end.

Harry’s name was right there. He could so easily press a button and give him a call or send him a text. But what would he even say? ‘Congrats on being nominated. Who cares if you didn’t win, you were still brilliant. You’re a real actor, true Hollywood star now, aren’t ya?’

But they weren’t close like that anymore.

 Zayn wasn’t sure that Harry would ever even text him back, given the opportunity.

 He locked his phone and pushed it under the pillow. Zayn turned on his side and shut his eyes, trying not to let tears escape.

 Even when they were in each other’s world, even if they could see each other face to face now, he still was so far away...

 

Spring 

 

“I don’t know why you dragged me to this awful fucking place,” Zayn complained as he pushed a shopping cart through the fresh produce section of the Pasadena Whole Foods on Arroyo.

 Gigi giggled. “Come on,” she ordered as she linked her arm in his.

Even after they had split up a few months ago, they remained friends. Gigi had become Zayn’s best friend in L.A. even if she was only there half of the year when she wasn’t traveling around the world or back in New York. And if he were to be honest, he couldn’t have imagined surviving his first year in L.A. without all her support. But their lives were changing and being a couple wasn’t easy anymore, for several reasons. Didn’t mean they had to stop being friends, though.

 “Thought we were going to go the farmer’s market--which is only a little bit less terrible because at least that’s where they have good kebab,” Zayn grumbled.

 Gigi gave him a scrunched up face. “‘I’m Zayn and I hate being healthy’,” she mocked.

 Zayn laughed against his will and pushed her with his shoulder. “Shut up.”

 Gigi laughed. “Well, get over it! Besides, I knew if I could convince you to go to a farmer’s market, eventually I could get you to a Whole Foods so… I sped up the process.”

 Zayn raised an eyebrow. “You owe me.”

 Gigi sighed, though she had a smile on her face. “Well, you need to try the juice first.”

 “Oh god…” Zayn groaned as he rolled his eyes.

 “Stop it!” Gigi lightly smacked his stomach. “You’ll like it… and you’re going to eat your words.”

 Zayn narrowed his eyes. “Juice? Really? I swear…”

 “Just try it, please?” Gigi blinked her long, curly eyelashes as she ducked her head and looked up at Zayn.

 Zayn closed his eyes and sighed. “Ugh… fine.”

 “Yay! In the meantime, I’m gonna help you do some grocery shopping while I’m in town.”

 Gigi towed Zayn down all the aisles and dropped various things in his cart that made him scrunch his brows together and roll his eyes. There were more fruits and vegetables than anything, several wines and cheeses from other countries, organic...everything, and Zayn wondered how he was supposed to finish all this food by himself in a reasonable amount of time. Although he had to admit that some of it looked good. Even if the brands sounded like hippie shit.

 “Okay, now to the juice bar,” Gigi cheered as she made Zayn push the cart this time.

 “This is only a one time thing…” Zayn warned her with a grumble.

 Gigi laughed as she got in line. Then she ordered both of them a regular sized “Farmer’s Garden.”

 “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me… there is _kale_ in this,” Zayn moaned.

 “Shut up and drink up,” Gigi ordered as she shoved the green drink in his hand.

 Zayn sighed and closed his eyes as he put his lips over the straw, and then sucked. His eyes flew open as he wasn’t met with something awful tasting, but something fresh and slightly tangy, yet sweet at the same time.

 “Shit, that’s good,” Zayn whispered under his breath.

 “So you like it?” Gigi said as she smirked at him.

 “It’s all right…” Zayn said as he took another sip of the drink, savoring the mini burst of fresh flavors on his taste buds.

 Gigi scoffed. “I’ll take ‘all right’ even though I know you’re playing cool,” she giggled.

 Zayn smirked at her. “It was good.”

 Gigi grinned. “See, I was right.”

 Zayn was about to make a smartass quip back, when he saw something behind her that made him freeze.

 It was a ghost again.

Harry.

He was dressed in sweats and a beanie, even though it was warm out, and he had a basket on his arm, looking like he just got here. His eyes were unfocused, scanning around him, not seeing Zayn yet. 

Zayn thought maybe he had a chance to escape. And… he would rather be caught dead than caught by Harry whilst holding a green juice in his hands. In a fucking Whole Foods--he knew it was a bad idea to come here...because of course Harry bloody Styles is here!

“Zayn? You okay?” Gigi brought Zayn back to focus.

“Yeah. Erm… we should get going.” He brought an arm around her and turned away, leaving Harry to stare at his back if he even saw him at all.

Gigi turned her head back and Zayn bit his lip in anxiety.

“Oh…” Gigi whispered as she turned back to him. 

“It’s fine, I just--”

“It’s still too awkward?” Gigi asked.

Zayn nodded, trying to calm down his heart and his breathing.

“Well… maybe it doesn’t have to be anymore. After all, we share mutual friends,” Gigi started. “And… come on, you both are doing so well for yourselves… it’s been enough time.”

Zayn stopped his tracks and swallowed. “Are you saying I should try and talk to him again?" 

Gigi nodded.

Zayn sighed. “As if it were that easy…”

“Well have you even tried?” Gigi had given Zayn the raise of her eyebrow that meant she was judging him--and he deserved to be judged.

Zayn looked down. “He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“How do you know? What a bunch of celebrity news blogs and bitter fans say?” 

“Well, don’t you think he would have tried to talk to me by now if he wanted to?”

“Zayn, you were the one that left. It’s not easy for him, or for the others. At least… it’s probably harder than it is for you.”

Zayn sighed. “Not now…” 

“Then when?” Gigi questioned with a serious gaze.

Zayn didn’t answer her and just pushed the cart towards the checkout lanes.

“Hold on--I need to go get something,” Gigi said as she flitted away from Zayn’s side. 

“Gi, wait!” Zayn sighed, forced to awkwardly stand next to the checkout lanes, dreading the sight of Harry once again. He decided to take himself out of plain view and went down the first aisle he could find, which was the cereal aisle. He made himself busy by studying every name until he heard his name called.

“Zayn! What are you doing?” Gigi called from the end of the aisle.

“I just…” Zayn sputtered as he rubbed at his chin.

“You’re still such an awkward dork,” Gigi benevolently said as she shook her head.

Zayn smiled and followed her back to the checkout lanes until he saw that Harry was in one of the lines now.

“Let’s just go, Zayn,” Gigi said as she made a beeline for Harry.

“No, Gigi!”

But he didn’t have much time to protest when Harry absentmindedly looked behind him and saw the both of them.

He looked just as pleased as Zayn to see him--which was...not at all pleased. 

They just stared at each other, silently.

“Hey,” Gigi said in that all-too-casual tone of hers.

“Hi,” Harry said. Then he looked at Zayn.

“Hi,” Zayn managed to breathe out.

“Hi,” Harry replied. Then he quickly turned back around and began to put his items on the conveyer belt.

 Zayn felt his throat grow dry and he wanted to bolt out of there. He didn’t even bother looking towards Harry after this and waited until he left with his items.

“You have a good day, too,” Harry told the cashier. Then he briefly turned to Gigi and Zayn. “Bye.”

“Bye,” Gigi cheerily told him. Zayn hadn’t even said anything, the dead look in Harry’s eyes made him feel like anything he said would have just dissipated into thin air.

Then Zayn felt his cheeks grow warm and his jaw grow tight at how fucking embarrassed he was about that exchange.

He and Gigi didn’t talk until they made it back to her car and put the groceries inside.

“So… that was…” she started.

“That was fucking terrible,” Zayn moaned. He smacked his palms over his eyes. “God.. that was worse than terrible, and he didn’t… he didn’t have any reaction!”

Gigi placed a comforting hand on Zayn’s arm. “It could have been worse.”

Zayn sadly smiled. “Yeah. I guess.”

 

+

 

Zayn didn’t bump into Harry over the next few weeks, but he still didn’t dare to step into a Whole Foods ever again, just in case. Although, he did set up delivery for those Farmer’s Garden drinks every now and then.

Shortly after that encounter, he read news about Harry being signed on to shoot another film. So hopefully that meant he’d be in LA less often if he was forced to go on location for filming. But… he’d still be here from time to time, and even though Zayn tried not to keep tabs on the other boys too often, he knew that they were all in L.A. at some point, and everyone except Liam had houses here.

So Zayn guessed he shouldn’t really worry about seeing Harry so much more than the others, but… they had been seeing more of each other in these past couple months than Zayn saw of the other three in the time since they were in the same band. He was surprised how long it took for him to see any one of them, though he supposed he hadn’t made a real effort to. And even though he was here the most often, Zayn was sure that Louis was still angry and would purposely avoid having anything to do with him. Zayn didn’t know why he wasn’t so sure of the same with Harry, though he felt stupid to hope for any better. 

If his best friend had wanted nothing to do with him for that long, why would Harry? Harry, who Zayn didn’t really know how to classify in his heart. They weren’t best friends, but they were more than friends, and there was a certain intimacy between them that he hadn’t shared with Louis, and he hadn’t even shared with Perrie or Gigi, both of whom he’d truly loved. He just didn’t know what it was about him and Harry together...  Though at the time Zayn left, he thought that intimacy was history, too. He didn’t know why those feelings even mattered anymore and yet, after seeing him face to face--he wanted it back.

There was no point in thinking about it, though, and Zayn just wanted to focus on his music, something that actually needed his attention and care. He had been spending a lot of time recording and writing with Malay and other producers for his next album. He wanted things to sound different, something that people wouldn’t expect from ZAYN, but would still be completely Zain Malik.

He was currently tapping his palms against his knees to the drum and guitar beat that he and his friend Aureli had come up with and recorded. Aureli was a local musician who played in a little-known band, born and raised in Boyle Heights. He had been introduced to Zayn by Malay after they went to a show at the Troubador a couple months back.

Aureli and Zayn hit it off right away since they were both low-key introverts, and Zayn knew from the moment he heard him play that he wanted to work with Aureli on his album. He brought a bit of rock and New Wave inspired vibes to Zayn’s music, though with the right pedals and pickups, it almost sounded ethereal and blended into Middle-Eastern and South Asian vibes.

“That’s such a sick riff, mate,” Zayn told him.

Aureli smiled, his brown eyes scrunching closed. “Yeah?”

“Definitely,” Zayn replied with a grin.

 “Yeah, well, your voice on top of this is going to blow the whole thing up.”

“Yeah I was thinking like… just to create more ambience, like… just my voice, but kind of like joining the riff, you know what I’m saying?” Zayn asked.

Aureli vigorously nodded. “Yeah, I think I do--let’s try it out!”

Zayn and Aureli worked on the song for two more hours, finally coming up with something that Zayn was intrigued and impressed by.

“Hey boys!” Malay greeted when he came over, just as they were finishing up. “You guys want a break?”

Zayn smiled up at Malay. “Got something in mind?”

Malay smirked. “Yeah, actually. There’s a secret 1975 show tonight at the Wiltern. Wanna go?”

Zayn looked over to Aureli, who grinned. “Sure, why not?”

“We’ll just have to make sure you go incognito. You have Matty’s number, right?”

“Yep,” Zayn sighed. Being with Aureli and Malay almost made him feel normal, like he could just go to a show in LA without worrying about paps or people snapping pics of him all around. He hated being reminded of it, but as long as he was smart about it, he could get around with little hassle. 

Still, he’d only spent time with Matty once, back when they were recording a potential song for FOUR that never came to fruition, and instead Liam and Julian created an opening riff on another track that sounded more like a ripoff of one of the 1975’s greatest hits. He wondered if Matty still harbored ill feelings about it.

 

+

 

Zayn had made the awkward call, and Matty agreed to let him be on the VIP list. It was a strange conversation, as he imagined all conversations with Matty might be when he was stoned. He seemed a bit too giggly and happy Zayn was showing up, for all that they had barely interacted.

But all worked out when Zayn and his friends got dropped off a couple blocks from the Wiltern and they were able to get into the venue through a staff entrance. Zayn didn’t want to try and watch from backstage, he wanted it to be like a real show and he and his friends were able to watch from VIP seats that were barred off from general admission. Still, Zayn put his hood on so as not to be so easily recognizable.

“This is sick, yeah!” Aureli told him when the guests had flooded all available space, and strange sound effects were blaring from the stage amid flashing lights.

“Yeah,” Zayn replied, waiting for it all to start. He loved the anticipation of a show, sometimes even better being the one watching. Waiting for that artist to come out, the buzzing feeling in his chest from the bass, the way his eyes had to focus beyond the dimness and the fog, the intrigue of not being able to see. The 1975 had a way of being art-focused and just...plain...strange sometimes, and Zayn loved it. It was being exposed without being seen. It was something he wanted to emulate in his own work, though he wanted to make it his own. He wanted to be original.

Zayn couldn’t think about this much more when the lights flashed on and Matty and the band came out in a burst of color, completely smashing it and getting the whole crowd to go batshit.

After a few rousing introductory tracks, Matty stopped to speak in the microphone and focused his eyes to where Zayn stood between Aureli and Malay.

“So...it’s come to my attention that a certain ex-boyband member is in the house tonight!”

There were a bunch of cheers and high pitched screams and Zayn felt his face grow tight. He really hoped Matty wouldn’t say any more than that.

“No, it’s not JC Chasez,” Matty quipped to a young woman in the front row. Then he laughed. “Alright, alright… that’s it, I just wanted to tease you. This next one’s about you, this is She’s American!”

Zayn drew a breath of relief, but then Matty brought the mic close to his mouth once more. “But for real Zayn, come backstage after the show. I love you,”  he drawled.

Zayn wasn’t friends with Matt Healy, but now he was convinced that they were enemies. He had half a mind to leave then and there, but a part of him was intrigued.

“Bro, are you… going to take him up on his offer?” Malay asked.

“Yeah, I mean, we can leave if you want--kind of shitty for him to call you out,” Aureli told him as he looked around, noticing the fans taking out their phones and pointing at Zayn as soon as they realized it was him.

“Nah, let’s see what’s got him feelin’ so ballsy,” Zayn said, a determined grin on his face.

Just before the end of the set, Zayn, Malay, and Aureli were led by security just outside the backstage green room, where he saw a familiar face.

“Harry?” he gasped as he saw Harry watching from the side of the stage.

The lights cut out and all was cloaked in darkness as Matty got backstage with Harry just behind him.

“Zayn, you’re here!” Matty cheered when the lights turned on backstage and he brought both hands on Zayn’s shoulders. He was sweaty and he smelled like weed and whiskey, and Zayn hoped he didn’t get much closer than he already was.

“So what’s all that about you callin’ me out, mate?” Zayn asked, though still wary of the fact that Harry was right there.

“Got a surprise for you,” Matty said with a grin as he turned Zayn around and they were both facing a wide-eyed Harry.

“Did you plan this?” Harry asked Matty. 

“Look, I think we should all go in the green room right now and chill out,” Matty ambled over to Harry whilst dragging Zayn.

“Zayn, is everything--” Malay started.

“It’s fine,” Zayn replied. “I’m sure this won’t be long.”

Aureli and Malay looked on with worried expressions.

“Come here, you!” Matty cheerfully told Harry as he brought him into his other arm. “I feel like the luckiest person in the world, a boyband member on each arm!”

Once they were basically thrown into the green room, which was just a black couch and a bunch of dried roses and candles interlaid with random instruments and junk, Matty closed the door, Zayn shook him off and glared. “What the fuck, mate?” 

He shortly looked to Harry, who looked less than amused, though he was silent.

Matty swiped a hand through his curls and uneasily smiled. “Okay, I just thought it was a bit serendipitous how both of you ended up ringing me to come to the show tonight, and… when’s the last time you two blokes even spoke to each other? If the Oscars were any indication, not recently,” he laughed. “So I mean… I had to do this. I feel like… I have the power to bring you guys back together. Everyone’s been wanting it, the world has been a very dark place since One Direction split up.”

“We didn’t split up,” Harry protested.

“Hasn’t been the same since Zaynie left, though, has it?”

Zayn would have wanted to laugh if he wasn’t horrified that Harry was in the same room as him hearing this. He was glaring at Matty now. 

“Look, I’m sorry, and hate me all you want, whatever--” Matty put up his hands defensively. “You two need to talk or fight it out and… I’ll just be out here. We can all have a smoke later.”

Matty clapped a hand on Zayn’s shoulder and grinned. “I really do love your music, Zayn. Hit me up sometime so we can, like, collab or something. For real this time,” he snorted. “It’d be insane. In-ZAYN!”

Zayn laughed that time. “Yeah, sure, mate.”

Then Matty stepped out of the room and closed the door on Harry and Zayn.

“He’s mental,” Harry remarked.

“Yeah,” Zayn replied with a small grin.

They were quiet for a few more seconds, Harry sitting on the couch and Zayn leaning against the wall. Zayn didn’t look at Harry directly and Harry turned away.

_One of us has to talk sometime,_ Zayn thought to himself. And apparently Harry was giving him a run for his money on being the “quiet one.” 

“This is going to keep happening, isn’t it?” Harry asked, a grave tone to his voice.

“What?” 

“We’re going to keep running into each other.”

“L.A. _is_ a small world,” Zayn said.

Harry let out a breath of something that was between a laugh and a sneer. “Not that small. Or at least… I thought…”

Zayn shrugged. They were quiet again for a long time.

“Do you hate me…?” Zayn finally asked. As long as they were stuck in the same room, he might as well get some answers out of Harry.

Harry looked shocked. His eyes got big and he swallowed, looking down.

Zayn waited for an answer, though he dryly laughed at himself for expecting one.

“I don’t know if I can answer that,” Harry finally said.

“I think you just did,” Zayn scoffed.

Harry’s eyes narrowed and looked more alive than Zayn had seen in two years. “Like it’s so simple, how I’m supposed to feel about you.”

It was Zayn’s turn to be stunned to silence.

Harry still looked angry, biting his lip, the color in his cheeks rising. “Of course I hate you! And yet… I can’t hate you. Not ever…”

Zayn creased his brow in confusion. “You’re not making any sense.”

Harry sighed. “Well, neither do you!”

Zayn swallowed and looked down. 

“Do you… hate me?” Harry asked this time.

Zayn looked up. “No.”

Harry turned away. “You answered that quick.” 

Zayn felt his throat grow dry again. “Well, it’s the truth. I don’t hate you, or the other lads. I never could…”

Harry gave him a short grin. “Well, I’m glad to hear that.”

“But… doesn’t mean I’m not angry with you,” Zayn told Harry. He couldn’t believe it had just come out like that.

“Angry with me? What did I ever do to you?”

Zayn glared at him. “...Whatever.”

“What, that’s it? That’s all the explanation I get?” Harry stood up and got close to Zayn.

Zayn balled his fists together at  his sides. He couldn’t really explain it because he didn’t quite know the answer himself. And now that Harry was here, standing in front of him, he had to fight an urge to take him in his arms and. Who knows that else. So he turned away. 

“Zayn,” Harry called him. “Don’t walk away from me.”

Zayn gasped, remembering.

It was the night before he left the band, he didn’t even really know he was leaving at the time, but his thoughts were all jumbled and he was trying his best to find a reason to stay, to say his farewells without really saying farewell. Harry had caught him in one of his spiraling stalks through the hotel and stopped him. He knew something was wrong and he wanted Zayn to talk to him about it. And Zayn knew that Harry might be able to get him to talk, might get him to stay for a little longer… but he didn’t want to talk to him, because he knew in his heart that his mind was already made up and talking about it would only make things worse. So he walked away.

“Don’t walk away from me,” was what Harry had told Zayn. But Zayn didn’t listen. And then the next day he was on a plane back to England.

Zayn turned around and faced Harry, his mind back to the present.

Harry put his hands up, exasperated. “What the fuck is this?”

“I don’t know.”

“You know why I hate you? Because of this, because you act like this--you ran without explaining anything. Like you didn’t even owe me that.”

Zayn didn’t know how to respond to this. “Do I?” 

“Do you what?”

“Do I owe you an explanation? Now, after all this time?”

Harry crossed his arms and pursed his lips. “Whatever, Zayn. Just go on.”

Zayn walked up to Harry and sighed. “What could I have said, Harry? What could have I said that would have changed anything?”

Harry was staring him in the eyes now. “Nothing.”

They were quiet again, and Zayn’s heart was pounding at how close they were.

“Zayn… we can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Seeing each other.”

Zayn scoffed. “Like I’ve been trying to see you. More like the opposite.”

Harry glared. “Well, we keep bumping into each other and… I don’t like it.”

Zayn dryly laughed. “So what do we do, tell each other where we’re going beforehand and coordinate schedules so we’re never in the same place at the same time?”

“Kind of defeats the purpose of wanting nothing to do with you,” Harry muttered.

Zayn felt a stab in his heart. Harry really did hate him.

“Then why don’t you leave?”

“Because I was here first!” Harry burst out, his cheeks red and his face contorted into a pouting expression that had Zayn flashing back to those early days when they first got used to each other.

Zayn almost laughed. It was the most colour and emotion he’d seen out of Harry in years. A part of him relished in being able to push his buttons so well, even after all this time. He still knew that behind that stoic, gracious, and cool exterior--Harry could be pushed and he could be petty, vindictive, and defensive. Zayn had an uncanny ability of bringing that part out in him when they were young.

Harry had the same ability with Zayn. Zayn never got angry too often, but the way Harry got under his skin, the way he knew just the right words or touch to get a visceral reaction out of Zayn, the way their eyes locked on each other with such heat, the way Zayn felt a pull towards him--whether it was a pull to whack him or kiss him--it was enthralling, and it was electric. He supposed it was the reason there was an attraction between them in the first place. They were so alike in so many ways, and maintaining cool in spite of anything was something they were both good at. Except with each other. And after everything, after all the time separated, here it still was. That electricity.

“Well, I’m not leaving,” Zayn argued. “Harry, we both live and spend a lot of time in L.A. We run among the same circles. It was inevitable.”

“Do you know how many parties and fashion shows I haven’t been to because I thought you might be there?” Harry asked, still clearly in a mood.

Zayn raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“It was my thing before! Now you’re…”

“What, are you jealous?”

“No! Just… I wish you wouldn’t put yourself so close to me.”

“Self-centered, aren’t you? You’re not the only lad who likes fashion or wearing haute couture, Harry.”

“Still… you know I go to those events! Were you hoping to see me?”

Zayn furrowed his brow in confusion. “I wasn’t trying to put myself close to you. In fact, I’ve tried not to because I had a feeling you hated me all along.”

They were quiet. Harry sighed.

Zayn sighed, too. “We’ll just… keep our distance. We’ve done a pretty good job up till now, anyway.”

“One of us better leave first or… you know, speculation, photos, more tabloid fodder… We’ll never hear the end of it.” Harry growled under his breath, “Matty’s going to pay for this.” 

“You can leave first,” Zayn told Harry. 

Harry nodded.

Zayn didn’t say anymore. They stared at each other for a few seconds. This was a non-farewell again, and it was even more bitter than the last time.

Harry walked to the door but as he was about to open it, it swung open, hitting him and knocking him backwards. Zayn rushed forward and caught him before he fell. He felt a warm ripple go through his body the moment he touched Harry, with his arms braced around him and Harry pressed to his chest, his head resting against his shoulder.

Harry looked back at Zayn, eyes focused and betraying no emotion. “Thanks.”

“Sorry, did I come back too soon?” Matty asked as he stood in the doorway.

Zayn let Harry go. “You should go.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Zayn ran a hand through his hair as he heaved out a sigh.

 

+

 

A couple weeks later, Zayn decided to go for a walk/hike at Runyon Canyon. He hated that it was the celebrity thing to do, but with enough prodding by Aureli and argument that they’d been cooped up inside writing and recording for too long, Zayn gave in. Headed up there with only a bottle of water and wearing shorts, a white t-shirt, and a snapback, Zayn strolled along the path in the early afternoon.

Zayn liked being out here, among the trees and with the smell of dust and a breeze caressing his skin. Even if he was in L.A., there was still nature out here, and even though everyone went to Runyon Canyon, it still didn’t really feel like he was in L.A. anymore, now that he was away from the mess and the clutter. 

Aureli had his dark locks of hair pushed back behind a sweatband and gestured to Zayn. “Come on, we gotta pick up the speed if we want to get up this hill.”

“Seriously? But this is nice,” Zayn countered with an impish smile.

Aureli laughed. “Gotta build up that lung capacity and stamina if you’re ever gonna put on an energetic show by yourself.”

Zayn laughed. “Ugh, I guess…”

Aureli smiled. “It’s true! How do you think I’m able to play guitar for so long and still manage to jump around stage?”

“Hey… speaking of,” Zayn started as he struggled to keep up with Aureli, his thighs burning. “How’d you like to go on tour with me?”

Aureli stopped. “What? Seriously?”

Zayn stopped too. “Yeah. I mean, you’re helping me write and record.”

“Yeah, but… don’t you already have a band?” Aureli asked.

Zayn clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Could use another guitarist.”

Aureli smiled, his eyebrows tilting up as his eyes glittered. “Dude, of course!”

They gave each other a fist bump and a brief embrace. Zayn grinned. “Great!”

But as Zayn pulled away, his grin fell and was replaced with a look of dread. 

“Dude, you okay?” Aureli asked, then he turned around.

Zayn was shocked and staring up at Harry, who was dressed in all white workout clothes, his wavy hair flopping despite the headband he had on. He was looking at Zayn, too, with a piercing stare.

“Oh…” Aureli continued as he turned back to Zayn.

Zayn shook his head and then put a smile back on his face for Aureli. He wouldn’t ruin their moment. “It’s nothing. Let’s keep going.” 

Zayn focused on each footstep as he trudged up the hill, keeping his eyes lowered, hoping that Harry would just pass by him and it would be like every other time he ignored him and he would be gone.

But he was still there when Zayn reached the crest of the hill. 

Harry had his hands on his hips and Zayn furrowed his brow, confused at why Harry hadn’t seemed to move from the spot when they both spotted each other.

“Hey,” Zayn said as he continued to walk.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” Harry irritably replied.

Aureli bit his lip and looked awkward. “Zayn, we can meet up top, okay?”

“But--Aureli--” Aureli had already turned around, and Zayn sighed as he faced Harry again.

“New friend?” Harry asked.

 “What’s it to you?” Zayn sneered. “And you’re being rude, you know!” 

Harry crossed his arms. “Why the hell are you here? Since when do you like hiking?”

“Am I not allowed to hike?”

“I just think it’s weird that you’re here at the same time I am and you’ve never wanted to go hiking before.”

 “Well, I’m not bloody stalking you if you think that’s what this is,” Zayn grumbled. “Now I’ll be on my way.”

Harry had grabbed Zayn’s arm, and Zayn’s heart fluttered at the touch.

“What’s your problem?” Zayn questioned as he shook out of Harry’s grasp.

Harry glowered at him. “Stop running into me on purpose.”

“I’m not...” Zayn growled.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “So you just magically appear at a Whole Foods and go to the same 1975 show and then you’re in Runyon Canyon, because those are things you always do?” 

“So you’re the only one who’s allowed to run and hike up hills, drink organic smoothies--sorry, JUICES--and go to concerts in Hollywood. Right. My mistake. It’s not like there’s thousands of other people who do the exact same thing every single day.”

Harry pursed his lips together, about to say something else annoying, but Zayn cut him off.

“Oh, wait--yeah, it is. And you’re one of them. And you’re mad because I’m doing the same thing?”

“You know why _you_ can’t do these things,” Harry told him with a hard stare.

Zayn creased his brow. “No, I don’t. Enlighten me.” 

Harry sighed and looked to the side.

“I’m here to stay, mate,” Zayn said as he outstretched his arms and gave Harry a smirk. “You can either decide to live with that and move on, or you can leave. But you can’t just decide that I don’t get to live in a certain corner of the world.”

“Why does it have to be my corner?” Harry argued. 

“ _Your_ corner? You’re acting like a child,” Zayn scoffed. “You always were the fucking baby of the band.”

Harry’s face contorted as it grew red. For a second, Zayn thought Harry might want to throw out a punch.

But it cleared and Harry blinked once, giving Zayn a calm stare. “I changed my mind. I do hate you. Thanks for making me sure of that.”

Zayn didn’t know what to say to that. He felt a cold stab in his chest.

He tried not to let the regret show on his face. Maybe it was better that Harry hated him. At least it gave him a reason not to talk to him, a reason other than apathy. Hate was good. Because at least it was something.

Harry trudged down the path, continuing his way. 

“Harry, wait!” Zayn had called out to him. 

Harry turned around, brow furrowed into a glare. “What?”

“Don’t fall off the path,” Zayn said. “Seriously, Harry... stay towards the inside of the path and don’t try to take stupid, artsy perspective photos. People die like that.”

Harry just blinked at him.

“So… I’ll just be on my way, then,” Zayn said as he used one hand to adjust his hat and turned away. 

“Zayn.”

Zayn turned around and was met with a soaring water bottle. He gasped as he caught it just before it hit his nose.

“What the--”

“So you don’t pass out or dehydrate,” Harry said, stoically. “You never did drink enough water. 

Zayn couldn’t help the smile that curved on his mouth. ‘Thanks.”

Harry shortly nodded before turning around.

 

Summer 

 

After all the mixing and recording had been done for his next album, Zayn had nothing to do but wait for the album to finish being produced and start promo and… prepare for an international tour. Thinking about all the work he’d have to do in the next couple months was a bit intimidating, but it also meant that things were about to get real exciting again.

So he decided to take a day off for himself and started with checking off an item on his bucket list for L.A. He was at the Getty Center on a rare overcast day, and he relished in the absolute quiet and peace being in an art museum at the top of a hill brought him. 

He wished he had been able to go to uni or to at least sit in on some Art History classes, so he could better appreciate the works he was admiring. A lot of centuries-old Western art was here, and though he might have gone to museums and read books about art when he was younger, he couldn’t help feeling a bit ignorant. Still, art was art. It was made to be beautiful, made to be looked at, even if it wasn’t understood. Sometimes… Zayn felt like that was what he must be to people who listen to his music. Even more so for the people who idolized him without really liking his music.

Only two people recognized him or at least bothered to ask him for a picture at the museum, and he was left to his solitude the rest of the time. At least, until twenty minutes into his visit.

“I can’t believe this,” he heard a familiar husky voice say behind him as he was admiring a rendition of the Birth of Venus. 

It was Harry.

Zayn sighed and turned back to the painting. “Can we… try to be civil towards each other? I’m really not in the mood for a fight.”

Harry looked at him, blinking.

Zayn sighed. “Okay, well then…”

“Another coincidence, I bet,” Harry said.

“Yeah, it is. You know how much I like art and I haven’t been to the Getty yet so--” Zayn felt his irritance grow. Why did Harry have to ruin a good time?

“Okay, well, at least this time you’re in your natural habitat. So I guess… as long as we don’t have to talk to each other.”

“Fine, I’ll stay at my corner of the room, you stay at yours,” Zayn said.

“Fine,” Harry said as he walked away from Zayn.

Zayn wandered around the room, looking at more pieces of art, though he could feel Harry there, and it was kind of driving him mad. When he left to move on to the next salon, so did Harry, and they froze up at the doorway.

“You first,” Zayn said.

“No, you,” Harry countered.

“You,” Zayn argued.

Harry furrowed his brow. “Fine!”

Then he went ahead and Zayn followed a bit behind, making sure to go in the opposite direction in the next room. This happened again and again until Zayn got lost in a Van Gogh piece, then heard soft footsteps approach.

“That one’s beautiful,” Harry whispered from behind Zayn.

Zayn turned back and blinked. Then he smiled as he looked at the blue irises again. “Yeah.”

“I kind of wish I could keep it in my house. Or make it into a shirt.”

Zayn laughed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” Harry grinned.

Harry seemed to no longer mind that they were looking at the same pieces within inches of each other. He and Zayn silently walked the rest of the room together, and then the rest of the museum together. Zayn liked the silence. Maybe all they needed was quiet, to just be together. Just their footsteps, just pointing at works of art, smiling or nodding along in agreement or understanding.

After they went through every regular exhibit, Harry and Zayn walked outside past the giant sculptures to the garden, where they overlooked the hills and what appeared to be all of Los Angeles. Sunlight was filtering through the edge of the clouds, so even though there was all that gray and congestion beyond the vibrant green of other hills, they could spot the ocean, blue as ever in this season.

“A lot of people hate on L.A. for being shallow but… look at how beautiful it is,” Zayn said aloud, not quite expecting an answer. 

“I know,” Harry answered. “Even though it’s rare, when you do find those quiet moments, that beauty… all the madness is overshadowed.”

Zayn turned to him and smiled. “It was always like that, anywhere we went, huh?”

Harry turned to him and smiled. “Yeah, I was just wondering why this felt familiar. All those trips around the world, finding reprieve from all the crowds and security and then finding something beautiful and just… enjoying it.”

Zayn quietly laughed. “We had some good times, didn’t we?”

Harry looked down, then he softly smiled. “The best times.”

“I miss it,” Zayn said after a short silence. “Sometimes.”

Harry nodded. “Me, too." 

They were quiet again as they looked out at the view, watching the city move, watching the clouds, letting the wind echo in their ears. Zayn could revel in this forever. 

“Hey, Harry… would it be too bold if… well, you want to go for a drink?” Zayn asked. He swallowed to fix the dryness in his throat. “We don’t even have to talk but… I liked this, being with you here. And… well, I figure I owe you that much. I owe you more, actually, but it would be a start.” 

Harry blinked. “You want to go for a drink?”

Zayn nervously laughed. “Yeah, or if you’re hungry we could go eat something. You drink, right? Or is that against your hippie diet?" 

Harry laughed. “No, it’s not--and I don’t have a hippie diet.”

“Just making sure,” Zayn said with a giggle.

“Okay,” Harry told him with a grin.

“Okay,” Zayn replied.

 

+

 

Harry drove them both to a place in Malibu that he knew was usually not popular for paparazzi. It was still too risky to be seen together, with all the potential speculation and unwanted attention it would bring.

Zayn and Harry ate tacos, drank margaritas, and talked and laughed until the sun went down. Zayn internally laughed at how absolutely Californian they were being together. He might also have just been giddy at the fact that Harry seemed to like being around him again.

Harry offered to drive Zayn back to his house afterwards and surprisingly, no fights were started and no one got heated during the entire time they spent together. It felt normal to Zayn--except that this wasn’t normal at all--being in L.A. and spending time with Harry alone shouldn’t feel normal.

“Today was… nice,” Harry said as he waited for Zayn to get out of the car.

“Yeah?” Zayn asked.

“Yeah. Surprisingly.” 

Zayn smiled. “I thought it was nice, too.”

“Well…”

“Yeah, uh…” Zayn scratched at his jaw, not sure what to say. 

Harry shrugged. “If we see each other, we see each other.”

 Zayn nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He stepped out of the car and closed the door behind him, then he waved at Harry. 

“Bye, Zayn,” Harry waved back.

“Bye, Harry.”

 

+

 

It didn’t take long for Zayn and Harry to see each other again, after they both ended up at a charity event for Dior in downtown L.A. Zayn went by himself, hoping to network or see familiar faces, but the socialization was all too brief and now he was boredly downing a drink when he saw Harry come out of nowhere.

“Having fun?” Harry asked.

A smile crept up Zayn’s cheek. “About to leave, actually.”

“Me, too. Wanna go on a real L.A. adventure?” Harry asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

Zayn narrowed his eyes playfully. “Sure.”

He wasn’t sure what they were supposed to be, as Harry drove Zayn in a vintage Mercedes through the freeways and through Hollywood with the top down. They were acting like friends again, but then again, they’d never done things like this with each other--and Harry was the one who reached out this time. They were listening to 1980s club hits and sitting in that passenger seat, Zayn felt like he was in some strange dream with the wind whipping in his hair and his world lit up by headlights and orange streetlights.

Harry was smiling widely, and it had been a long time since Zayn had seen that face on him. There was that boy he used to know so well, and somehow… Zayn thought he might have had something to do with that expression being there. It was a wonderful dream. 

“Here we are,” Harry said as he stopped the car at the top of a hill in Hollywood.

Zayn got out of the car and saw the lit up majesty that was the Griffith Park Observatory at night. It was quiet, and not many people were there.

“Isn’t this where they were in Transformers?”

Harry flattened his eyes. “Of course you’d say that.”

Zayn laughed, then narrowed his eyes. “Hey, I know this place, but I just remembered it from Transformers right now.”

“Come on, it’s one of the best views of the city.”

They were able to go inside and to the edge of the Observatory, and from up there, elbows resting on that white stone, Zayn gasped. L.A. was lit up just before him, the greens, oranges, whites, and every other twinkling color of the city shining just for him like fairy lights during the winter holidays. He felt on top of the world, and surrounded by this Greek architecture, silent and imposing, he felt like this is what kings must feel when they overlook their kingdoms.

“Wow…” Zayn breathed out. 

“Isn’t it incredible?” Harry grinned.

“Yeah,” Zayn answered, smiling.

Harry turned to him and they were close now. “Thought it’d be more fun than that party.”

“It is.” Zayn gave Harry a warm look. “Harry… why did you bring me here? I mean, you didn’t have to.”

“Because I wanted to,” Harry said as he looked away. Zayn looked down and noticed that their hands were touching on the stone. He let his fingers edge over Harry’s and he didn’t budge, though now he was looking at their hands, too.

Harry turned to face him and his eyes looked a bit like he was expecting something, like he wanted something.

Zayn felt that electric pull again, and Harry being here, not fighting him for once, maybe that meant that they could…

Zayn leaned forward as he held Harry’s hand, but Harry snatched his hand away and stepped back. 

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, looking a bit upset.

“I’m sorry. I thought--”

“What the hell did you think?” Harry said, brow furrowed in anger.

“I just thought we were having a nice moment and...” Zayn swallowed.

Harry sighed. “Whatever you thought it was, it wasn’t.”

“Are you...seeing someone?” Zayn asked, ducking his head down.

“No, I’m not,” Harry bitterly replied.

“Well I’m not, either, so what is this, then?” Zayn asked, his turn to get annoyed.

“Well it’s not whatever you thought it was, that’s for sure. We’re not even friends, Zayn.”

“Then why the fuck did you bring me here? Why were you being nice to me?” Zayn arched an eyebrow. “And what is with you being full of shit half the time? Can you just tell me what you’re really feeling?”

“We’re not friends,” Harry steely told him.

Zayn scoffed. “Right… Look me straight in the eye and tell me you didn’t miss me. Tell me that tonight, that the other day at the Getty and dinner, that that didn’t feel good.”

Harry sighed.

“Look, you can’t.”

“It’s not that simple,” Harry said as he crossed his arms.

“Then make it simple for me, Harry, fuck! I… I don’t know what else to say!”

“How about saying sorry? How about telling the truth?”

“What do you mean, tell the truth? I’ve said it all, I never lied.”

“Whatever.”

“No, not whatever!” Zayn lashed out. “How long do I have to be punished for doing something for my own happiness, for following my dreams and being able to do it on my own terms? And here, you’ve been able to do it without any sort of punishment, you’ve done it with praise--fuck, you’d have been praised for it even before I left!”

“But I didn’t leave!” Harry narrowed his eyes. “That’s the difference.”

“Like you didn’t want to…” Zayn sneered. “If it were the other way around and you’d left first, how many people do you think would have been shocked?” 

“Fuck you,” Harry replied.

Zayn smiled. “I wish everyone could see this side of you. Not sweet, polite, and bland Harry. You think all your new friends know the real you? Have they been able to press all the right buttons, to hit all the right kinks, like I always would? You think they’d like this side of you better?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m not saying it as a bad thing. I prefer this version of you, because it’s real.”

“Oh, it’s always about being _real_ with you, isn’t it? Like the five years we were together weren’t real, like none of that was real.”

Zayn narrowed his eyes. “We were always real. We still are.” Then he looked down and sighed. “I thought you and I… I thought that would never be broken. No matter how much we fight or argue, we always come back together, don’t we?” 

“Well, the universe seems to think that’s a wonderful joke,” Harry muttered.

“So why did you bring me here tonight?” 

Harry was quiet.

“You still care about me, don’t you?” Zayn asked.

“I’m gonna go.”

“Harry, wait.”

“Get your own ride,” Harry said as he began to walk away.

Zayn followed after him. “Harry, are you seriously leaving?”

“Just stay away, Zayn!”

Zayn froze in his steps. Harry had never shouted at him like that, with so much rancor. Even in the darkness, Zayn could see the flush of anger in his cheeks and eyes.

“You don’t get to decide to leave me out of your life and then decide to just come back into mine because you feel like it. I get to decide! Because I wasn’t the one who left!”

Zayn looked down. “I never wanted to leave you out of my life.”

“But you made it so hard to be a part of it after you left.”

“You’re in it now!” Zayn protested. “Please, Harry, don’t go.”

Harry glared at him. “Now you know what it’s like to have someone walk away when you want them to stay. I hope it hurts.”

Zayn could do nothing but stand there as Harry walked away.

 

+

 

After the incident at the Observatory, Zayn couldn’t stop thinking about Harry. He couldn’t help but wonder that… Harry had been nice to him and had willingly agreed to spend time with him, even if he said he hated him. So part of him must not hate him. He just… couldn’t understand why he pulled away so quickly after they were having such a good time.

Several weeks later, Zayn was recording an experimental vocal run in his bedroom when he heard his doorbell ring. He wasn’t expecting anyone that day, and only someone with a code could have gone through the first gate to drive in.

Zayn put on a tank top and quickly made his way down the stairs and to the front door. He looked out the peep hole and saw Harry. Of all people.

He opened the door, and Harry had his hands in his pockets. He looked at Zayn with an intense stare.

“Why are you here?” was all Zayn could think of to say.

“I hate you,” Harry said, keeping his jaw clenched and flicking his eyes between the ground and Zayn’s face.

Zayn looked down, thinking of what to say.

“Did you hear me?” Harry said as he stepped forward and into Zayn’s house. “I said I hate you.”

Zayn bent his brow, wondering if he should close the door now that Harry was inside, and wondering what this was all about. Maybe it was the verbal lashing he had been bottling up all this time. Well, no matter how brutal it was, Zayn supposed he would take it.

He pushed the door closed behind Harry. “I heard you. And… before you say anything else, I’m going to tell you what I should have told you before I left. I’m sorry.”

Harry screwed his face into a frown, his lips trembling. “I still hate you for what you did.”

Zayn glanced down. “That’s okay.”

"No, it’s not,” Harry said, voice trembling now as his eyes watered. “I hate you so much.”

He grabbed Zayn’s jaw and pressed a hard kiss to his lips. Zayn felt a shock, and stood still for a second, taking it in as he felt Harry’s teeth grind against his and Harry’s fingers grasped his skin and tugged at his hair.

Harry pulled away sharply, breathing out in huffs. “I hate… that I still love you... “

“I hate it too,” Zayn said before he reached forward and grabbed Harry this time to kiss him, hand wrapped around his neck.

“What do you hate?” Harry whispered when he pulled away and pressed a kiss on Zayn’s throat.

Zayn sighed at the sensation of Harry’s teeth on his skin. “I’m still in love with you. I never stopped. And I’ve been hating myself for it because it was all my fault I--” 

Harry cut him off with another kiss, and the two lost all words. Zayn savored every different touch and sensation of Harry’s lips and hands on him. They both went slow, lingering on every tug, every bite, every press of skin, and every heated stare. Zayn wanted to cherish every moment, because he finally had Harry here in his arms and on his mouth and for the first time in years, he felt whole again.

Zayn held him close and paused in their kissing to grasp his head and just hold him there.

Harry was breathing out hard. “Zayn.”

“I just want you to hold me,” Zayn replied. “Just for a few seconds.”

He ducked his face into Harry’s shoulder as Harry grasped him just as tightly. Zayn fought to not let tears come out. He was so happy that Harry was here, in his arms.

When Harry pulled back, he had tears in his eyes, too. Then Zayn smiled and let his spill out. They stared at each other, smiling, and then the gaze changed into something a bit heavier.

Zayn grasped Harry by the collar and pulled him into another kiss. He was done with going slow and brought his hands around Harry’s waist and pressed into his back, pressing so hard that Harry hissed when he felt Zayn’s nails through his shirt.

Harry tugged at Zayn’s hair again, more roughly this time as he sank his teeth into his throat and sucked hard. Zayn groaned and pressed his body into Harry’s, feeling the hardness there, grinding against it. Harry moaned into it and held on tighter to Zayn until they swayed and Harry forced them to walk, trading kisses until Zayn was pushed against his living room wall. Harry held him there with a hand to his throat and Zayn opened his mouth to let Harry’s tongue in, his entire body burning at Harry's touch.

Harry let his other hand glide down and undo Zayn’s jeans, slipping it over his cock, over his boxer-briefs.

“Go ahead,” Zayn whispered against Harry’s mouth. And Harry obliged, squeezing and grabbing at Zayn’s cock and balls, rubbing his own cock against Zayn’s hip.

“Fuck… fuck!” Zayn groaned as he thrust into Harry’s hand. He felt like he could come just like this without Harry even actually taking his pants off.

Then Harry let go and Zayn felt cold where his hand had been. “What?” he whispered out.  
  
Harry leaned in close, “I want to see your bedroom.”

Zayn furrowed his brow, then smiled once he saw Harry grin. He always was such a tease.

“Fine,” Zayn breathed out before grabbing Harry by the collar and dragging him away and upstairs. They kept bumping into the walls because they still couldn’t keep their hands or mouths off of each other, and Zayn was hard, and this teasing was making it worse--or better, he might say.

Once they got into his room, he pushed Harry up against the door and gave him a heavy kiss as he pulled his shirt up and Harry lifted his arms to help him take it off.

“So fucking beautiful, always,” Zayn remarked as he looked down Harry’s torso.

Harry blushed as Zayn knelt down and started to kiss at his stomach, down to the laurel tattoos. Harry reached out and grasped Zayn’s shoulders, tugging at his tank top. Zayn stood up and peeled it off, then watched as Harry bit his lip, shamelessly looking at his body. His hair was still short, but the curls were revived and they were messy and damp with sweat now, resting on Harry’s face, and Zayn wanted to make them completely wet by the time he was through with him.

“Get over here,” Zayn said as he walked back and sat on the bed.

“I’m still angry at you.” Harry pushed Zayn’s chest, forcing him to lie on his back, then he sat on the bed, straddling Zayn’s hips.

“I know,” Zayn said. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

Harry bent down and sucked a kiss at the center of Zayn’s chest, where that kiss mark tattoo was. Harry held Zayn down, grasping his arms as he kissed down his body, lowering his pelvis to grind against him. Zayn hissed at the burn against both of their jeans, though there was so much pleasure, he almost didn’t care.

Then he reached a hand out of Harry’s grip and grabbed Harry’s curls to force him to look at him. “Let me give you what I owe. Let me try to make up a bit for the pain.”

Harry looked at him carefully, though his brow betrayed confusion. Zayn sat up and gently grabbed his chin, softly kissing him. “Get your pants off, babe.”

Harry did as told and unbuttoned his jeans, peeling them off with Zayn’s help, and then his pants. Zayn got up and picked up a bottle of lube and a condom from the drawer in his nightstand.

“Come sit,” Zayn told Harry. He was still hard in his jeans, but he could wait. He’d waited long enough for this. It was Harry who needed the attention now.

Harry sat near the head of the bed where Zayn was waiting. Harry was naked and blushing for him, almost as hard as Zayn was. “Zayn...” he softly started.

“I love you, and I missed you,” Zayn answered. “Let me show you how much.”

Zayn gave Harry a chaste kiss, though Harry parted his lips to let Zayn through and make it deeper.

As they went on to release every frustrated passion kept bottled inside the past few months, they kept their hands clasped together. Even if it hurt, neither wanted to let go, even when Harry reached his climax and he no longer had the strength to hold himself up. And even when Zayn finally came, he didn't let go of Harry's hand. He never wanted to let go of him again.

 

+

 

“... Was that really what you came all the way here for?” Zayn asked as he and Harry lied in bed, naked and curled against each other.

Harry smirked.

Zayn giggled. “You were that confident?”

“Well… I hoped…”

Zayn laughed again. “Classic Harry on the pull…”

Harry laughed this time. “Well, wouldn’t be the first time I’ve pulled you.”

Zayn smiled. “Didn’t think it would happen again.”

“Really?”

“Well, I didn’t really have a reason to…” Zayn looked down.

Harry sat up on his elbows, facing Zayn now. “I have to confess something.”

Zayn blinked and met Harry’s eyes with a concentrated narrow of his eyes. “Okay.”

Harry looked down. “I was a fucking mess without you, Zayn. And those first few months without hearing from you, without being able to reach you… I couldn’t sleep good, just lied awake thinking about you, hoping you were okay. But I didn’t know, and I didn’t know how you felt about the rest of the band… and, well, about me…and it was easier to just try and move on, because I was so angry, but heartbroken underneath it all.” 

“I know…” Zayn coaxed as he rubbed a hand on Harry’s wrist.

Harry sighed heavily. “It was so fucking hard. And you didn’t make it any easier when you were with Gigi, not that I blame you for anything. She made you happy and Gigi is lovely, she really is… and besides, before that it was Perrie, who was also lovely.”

Zayn smiled at his last remarks. “You don’t have to explain. I’m aware of the hurt I caused. Maybe things could have been done differently. Maybe I could have waited, but…”

“You couldn’t even talk to me about it, it was that bad. So then… you had to leave,” Harry said.

Zayn looked over at him. “Honestly, you feel that way?”

“Well, that’s the only way things make sense. I see that now.” Harry sighed. “But back then… all I ever wanted was the truth. Maybe it was just too hard to realise...”

Zayn looked at him sadly. “To realise what?”

“We weren’t enough to keep you there,” Harry answered.

Zayn swallowed, feeling a sinking sensation in his heart. Harry was exactly right.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stay.” Zayn swallowed. “It was never about you, or any of the other boys, you have to understand that. If I could have… I would have stayed just for you four. I wouldn’t have walked away from you that night.”

“I think...we just wish you would have been honest with us from the start.”

“I never lied… I just… didn’t know how to say the truth without hurting you all. Guess there wasn’t a way to do that.”

“But if we had known how much you were suffering, Zayn…”

“I never… thought it would be the end of us, as friends, that is…” Zayn said. “Foolish of me. I didn’t think that part through. But I was more scared of what would happen if I didn’t leave. To me. To us.”

“Well, things are different now, everyone’s doing well and… we’re together.” Harry smiled at him, wiping away his tears.

“Yeah, we are.” Zayn smiled wide.

“So that’s all that matters.” Then Harry moved in for a kiss.

Zayn continued to smile. “Never thought I could have this again.”

Harry smiled. “Me neither.”

“Especially when it was always a bloody warzone between us for that month or two,” Zayn said with a laugh.

Harry’s eyes widened.

“What?”

“I just got it… Warzone…. ‘It’s a paradise, and it’s a warzone’...” Harry narrowed his eyes. “Was that about…?” 

“It’s always a fucking warzone with you,” Zayn said with a smirk. “But right now, definitely paradise.”

“And right now we’re… having… pillow talk…” Harry burst out into a laugh until he turned on his side. 

“Yeah, yeah, shut up! Now how many songs on Made in the A.M. were about me?” Zayn asked with a giggle.

“Nuh-uh, not revealing those secrets.”

“I’ll tell you which of mine are about you,” Zayn teased with a nip at his ear.

Harry groaned. “Still not gonna…”

“Fine,” Zayn said as he pressed himself against Harry’s ass.

“...Fuck… If I Could Fly!” Harry groaned out.

“See, that was easy,” Zayn said with a smirk.

“Your turn now,” Harry said before he flipped over and pushed Zayn over onto his back, hands pinning his wrists. Zayn was impressed with all the weight and muscle Harry put on, how easy it was for him to do this now.

“Well?” Harry asked with a grin as he looked down at Zayn.

Zayn smiled up at him. “TiO. Well, that one’s more about what we did the night after we shot the Best Song Ever vid, but--I’m tired of this game, just fucking touch me please.”

“Okay,” Harry said before leaning down and kissing him. “Any chance I can see Veronica again, though?”

“That can be negotiated,” Zayn laughed as Harry covered it in another kiss.

After another bout of sex, Zayn felt sleepy, and this time he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay up and talk. Harry’s eyes were half lidded now, anyway. He wouldn’t last much longer, either. 

Zayn swallowed. “Harry?" 

“Yeah.”

“Will you…” Zayn lost his words, a bit embarrassed about how he wanted to finish that sentence.

“What, Zayn?”

“Will you get the light?” Zayn asked. 

Harry grinned. “Sure, babe.” He kissed Zayn before getting up to turn off the light.

Zayn smiled once Harry skipped back into bed, giggling into his neck. “Cold…” 

“Yeah? Could make you warm again.” 

“I’m too tired…” Harry moaned.

Zayn smiled. “All right.”

What he really wanted to ask Harry was, _Will you still be here when I wake up?_

 

+

 

When Zayn felt himself waking, face smushed against a pillow and sunlight filtering in the room, he felt content and full. He smiled, but then it dropped as he turned over and saw that he was the only one in his bed.

 “Of course…” he told himself.

Then he heard a clatter from somewhere in the house and bent his eyebrow.

He got up and put on some clean boxers before going downstairs, whilst he heard some more clattering. A waft of sweet aroma greeted him as he walked into the living room and on through to the kitchen, where he saw Harry frantically moving something out of a pan with a baking mitt on.

Zayn’s lips curved up unintentionally and then he laughed out loud as he rubbed at his eyes. 

Harry was still here. He didn’t leave.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Harry froze and stood up straight. “Ah--I was making you breakfast. So we could have breakfast in bed. Your kitchen is very confusing.”

Zayn chuckled, then walked forward, watching Harry grow more annoyed as he looked down at the muffins he had baked.

“They’re burnt,” he pouted.

“Harry, I don’t care,” Zayn said as he walked up to him, then cupped a hand on his face.

Harry lost his frown, and then smiled.

“Come back to bed.” Zayn leaned forward and kissed him.

 

+

 

Harry and Zayn brought what they could salvage from Harry’s work, as well as some fresh juice and fruits they could find in the fridge, and laid in bed with it all after changing the sheets.

Zayn was stupidly happy and he couldn’t stop staring at Harry. Didn’t want to close his eyes in case this was a dream. But eventually, he did have to get back to reality.

“So what are we?” Zayn asked.

Harry swallowed and looked down.

Zayn sighed. “We’ve always… been us, but… never…”

“We were always a ‘thing’,” Harry said, wry smile on his lips.

Zayn swallowed. “What if I wanted us to be more than a thing?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You mean… you want to be in a relationship?”

Zayn blushed. “I… I just think it’s the proper thing to do if I love you, and… we’ve always had something in the way before, but now…. There’s nothing in the way.”

Harry’s mouth had dropped open and he was silent for the next few seconds, which felt like an eternity to Zayn. 

“Forget it, it’s dumb, I know,” Zayn said, looking down and biting his lip.

“No, it’s not.”

Zayn looked up and met eyes with Harry, who looked like he was flushed and breathing quick. “You don’t have any idea how long I’ve wanted that, dreamed about that.”

Zayn crouched closer to Harry. “Really?”

Harry nodded. “I just never thought it was possible. I’ve always been in love with you, Zayn.”

Zayn felt his heart melt and he reached out a hand to grab Harry’s. “Well, it may be possible now. Is it something you think is possible?”

Harry looked down. “Yeah, just…”

Zayn glanced down. “You’re worried about what other people might think?” 

“Well… mostly what three people would think,” Harry sighed. “They still don’t know we’ve been seeing each other and… I’m not sure how they would feel about that.”

“Does it matter?” Zayn quickly replied. “I mean… of course it matters, huh?”

Harry gave him a pained glance. “I don’t know.”

“So… we hide it?” Zayn asked.

“I don’t want to hide it. Had enough drama for a hidden relationship that I didn’t even know I was hiding,” Harry dryly said.

Zayn scoffed. “God, almost forgot about that. Ugh, now I wish I hadn’t remembered it. Fucking awful people that did that to you and Louis. How’s Louis doing, by the way?”

Harry looked sad. He knew how close they were. Even if he and Zayn had this intimacy between them, it was no secret that Louis and Zayn shared the closest friendship. And now they were strangers.

“I don’t know… but I imagine he’s doing well,” Harry finally replied.

Zayn nodded. He knew how estranged he and Louis were before he left. It must be even worse now that they’ve been on indefinite hiatus for such a long time. 

“You think the others… will ever forgive me?” Zayn asked as he stretched his arms behind him.

Harry looked sad. “They have to. We all loved you… it just, it hurt so much when you left. But given time, I’m sure they’ll come around.”

Zayn shortly smiled. “Yeah, maybe.”

Harry went close to him and pressed a kiss to his chin. “If you were able to get me back, you can definitely get the others back.”

“So… you really want to… be together?” Zayn asked.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I do. As long as you do…”

Zayn took in a deep breath, then nodded back. “I do… I love you.”

Harry smiled. “I love you, back.”

Zayn smiled and brought Harry close to kiss him. He wasn’t a dream anymore. Harry was here, in bed with him, in the morning, and Harry wanted to be with him. This was real.

 

 

Autumn 

 

“You can’t sleep in the car, Zayn, you’ll get your hair messed up,” Harry told Zayn as he pressed his fingers into his neck. They were on their way to the American Music Awards. 

Zayn groaned. “I’m not trying to sleep, I’m just… focusing and trying not to fucking freak out.”

“You nervous about winning?”

Zayn turned to Harry and his gaze was flat. “You know that’s not what I’m worried about.”

Harry’s grin dropped. “I know, I was just trying to lighten up the mood.”

Zayn sighed.

“It’ll be okay. I mean, our families are okay with it, and Liam, Niall, and Louis are actually happy about it. So what does the rest of the world matter?”

“This is going to change everything,” Zayn moaned. “What if… what if we can’t handle that? How on earth did you talk me into this?”

“Might have had something to do with you being post-orgasm, but--”

“Harry…” Zayn sighed as he brought a hand to tug at Harry’s coat lapel. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

Harry leaned in close so that he and Zayn were resting their foreheads against each other. “You won’t. Didn’t you say so? No matter what happens, we’ll always come back to each other.”

Zayn smiled. “I did.”

Harry smiled. “We don’t have to snog on the red carpet or tell the world we’re in love, but I’ll still be here with you. We can get to that other part when you’re ready.”

“You sure?” Zayn asked.

Harry smiled. “Of course. It’d be kind of funny to see what the world spins it like anyway.”

Zayn grinned. “You’re right. I don’t have to be scared. Not when I’ve got you.”

“We’re just going to be the most awesome power couple on the red carpet. Give Posh and Becks a run for their money.”

Zayn laughed. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Harry told him before giving him a kiss.

The car stopped, and Zayn and Harry pulled apart, preparing to step out. Then the car door opened up to a tunnel of flashing lights and crimson carpet.

Harry laced his fingers with Zayn’s and squeezed at his hand. “I’m here with you now. That’s all that matters, right?”

Zayn smiled. “Right.”


End file.
